


That's how you and I will be

by frostysunflowers



Series: Irondad Bingo [10]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, Mild self-worth issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: Tony cuddles babies.Tony Stark cuddles babies.Iron Man is good with babies.No matter which way Peter tries to spin this newfound knowledge in his mind, it still doesn’t make sense.





	That's how you and I will be

**Author's Note:**

> For the Jealousy square in Irondad bingooo. 
> 
> I mean the fact that Tony cuddling babies is canon just made this whole idea completely irresistible to me haha. I will ask that people please suspend their sense of disbelief because fluff has been put ahead of accuracy in terms of how people are allowed to move around a hospital - having said that, hopefully this will be nice enough for none of that to matter. 
> 
> Warning for brief, non-graphic mentions of sick children and childhood illnesses.

  
''Mister Spider-Man?''

Peter grins behind the mask as he looks down at the little girl clambering up into his lap.

''Yeah, Daisy?''

''How old are you?''

Peter makes a humming noise. ''How old do you _ think _I am?''

Daisy’s cute little brow creases in thought. ''A hundred and five!''

Peter gasps, bouncing his knees so she giggles and clings to his shoulders. ''How did you know that?''

The glee on the little freckled face in front of him fills Peter with such triumph, he wonders if it’s possible to bottle the feeling and use it as rocket fuel, it’s that strong.

Of all the things that make being Spider-Man incredible, this is by far the best. In a happily decorated room full of gigantic collections of stuffed animals and colourful little chairs and cosy bean bags, Peter gets to reap the biggest reward of being a superhero.

Making kids smile.

A fierce coughing breaks out from somewhere behind him, making several of the younger children in the room quiver anxiously. The nurse nearest to the spluttering little boy scoops him up, muttering reassurance as he trembles weakly in her arms, oxygen tube jittering with his shudders.

Peter accepts Daisy’s hug and pats her back as he watches the little boy disappear from the room, giving him a little wave and feeling his heart clench when he gets a tired but eager wiggle of fingers in return.

''Danny’s really sick today,'' Daisy says quietly.

''Yeah,'' Peter replies, trying not to think of the illness trekking its way through Daisy’s own body at this very moment. ''I’m sure a rest will help. He was hitting that drum pretty hard.''

The pair of them look over to where Suzie, sporting a freshly shaved line on her scalp, and Mikey, wiggling in his wheelchair, enthusiastically debate whether the drums should be accompanied by a tambourine or some sort of wood instrument.

It’s an endearing and greatly moving sight, much like everything Peter tends to see when he comes to visit the kids in the hospital. Some of them are only there for a short while; some head home for a time before coming back in for more treatment while others are there for the long haul, a phrase which has vastly contradicting meanings for all those that it applies to.

Peter tries not to dwell on the gnawing horror of it all, tries to ignore the relentless heartache that seems to ripple through him when he lingers too long in a doorway or holds a cold little hand for more than a few minutes. It’s not to be cruel or dismissive, far from it. It’s so he can be what these kids need.

A happy distraction. A little ray of sunshine in the gruelling routine of tests and surgeries and tears.

Though Spider-Man is considered the hero, Peter can only marvel at the heroic spirits of these kids. Their tenacious ability to keep smiling, to keep finding joy even when life has dealt them such a rough hand. He feels nothing but overwhelming awe for the parents, the ones who have to keep the smiles brighter than anyone, the ones who look at him with such palpable gratefulness whenever he flips into the wards.

For a few hours, whenever he’s able, Peter will drop by, allow himself to be swarmed by tiny shrieking humans. He let shys little ones curiously pat at his mask, jokes around with the older kids who play it cool but are still glad to see him nonetheless, takes a thousand pictures and puts on as impressive of a performance as he can just to bring out a few smiles wherever possible.

The cuddles are the best part.

Sweet, unafraid even in their shyness, boundless in their enthusiasm. Though the mask hides his face, Peter sometimes wonders if his grin is visible whenever a small pair of arms hug him excitedly around the middle or curl tightly around his neck.

There’s tears too, because sometimes the reality of it all and the sweetness of the kids gets to him just a little bit too much and he has to sneak off for a moment or two.

Which is what he’s doing when he wanders past an open door and spots something that nearly makes him trip over.

Peter stares. Then he reaches up under his mask to rub his eyes before staring again. _ Then _he shakes his head and blinks hard, but the sight in front of him doesn’t change.

In the room behind the open door is a pale blue rocking chair. In the pale blue rocking chair, gently tipping backwards and forwards, is Tony.

In his arms is a baby.

It isn’t so much the sight of Tony sitting there with a baby in his arms that shocks Peter, but more the look on Tony’s face.

It’s a look that Peter can’t ever recall seeing before. All the harsh edges are gone, leaving no trace of bravado or snark. His gaze is gentle and the smile on his lips is tender, so unguarded and free. Peter can’t remember the last time he saw the man look so relaxed.

There’s a man and a woman in there with him too, sitting close by. The three of them are talking in hushed murmurs, all eyes on the baby as they do so. As Peter inches closer towards the door, the woman yawns widely.

''Oh! I’m so sorry,'' she says through it, hand covering her mouth.

''Please,'' Tony rolls his eyes, ''I’ve known actual robots that sleep more than you do.''

The woman blushes before looking over at her partner, who merely gives her a knowing look.

''I’m _ fine _,'' she says, the words stolen away by another yawn.

''Okay,'' the man gently pulls her up, ''I know if I suggest going home you’ll screech at me,'' the three of them chuckle like it’s a regular thing, ''so how about we go get some coffee?''

The woman looks down at Tony, chewing her lip.

''You kids go on,'' Tony jerks his head at the young couple, flashing them a smile before his attention returns to the baby. ''We’re good, aren’t we, sweetheart?''

The baby doesn’t react straight away, but then a tiny hand comes out to tap lazily at Tony’s tie. Peter watches, utterly dumbstruck, as Tony captures the little fingers between two of his much larger ones and holds them close to his chest. The couple smile softly at the sight before they head towards the door. They don’t notice Peter as they leave, too wrapped up in winding their arms around each other and trudging wearily towards the cafeteria to notice the red and blue figure lurking nearby.

As they disappear around the corner, Peter turns his attention back to Tony, shuffling as close as he can to the open door without being seen.

Something odd begins to unfurl in the pit of Peter’s stomach as he hears Tony start to hum. It’s a tune that he recognises but can’t quite place, soft and gently upbeat and more than enough to make the baby’s eyes narrow in sleepy contentment. Tony keeps up the melody, fingers patting in time against the padding of the blankets wrapped around the baby, smile growing as the baby’s eyes fall shut.

The moment seems to go on forever. Tony’s low voice seeps out of the door and wraps around Peter, hypnotising him into leaning his head against the doorframe and letting his eyes fall shut to absorb the peace that washes over him even as the feeling in his stomach grows worse.

Eventually though, the moment ends and there’s a lingering silence as Tony just simply gazes down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Peter leans a little further into the doorway as he watches Tony stand and carefully, with the utmost softness, place the baby in the little crib standing by the wall. He eases his arms up and rests one hand on the translucent side as the baby wriggles around for a moment before settling.

For some reason, Peter darts out of sight when he senses that Tony’s about to turn around. He presses up against the wall, feeling like more than the world’s biggest idiot, because really there’s no reason to be hiding.

''Stop being dumb, kiddo, and get in here.''

Apparently, Tony agrees.

Peter shuffles into the room, rubbing the back of his head as Tony looks at him with a smirk, so unlike the adoring smile that had been on his face moments ago. Peter’s eyes peek over at the sleeping baby.

''Cute, huh?''

Peter’s embarrassed by how long it actually takes his brain to form an answer.

''Oh! Y-yeah, yeah, uh, real cute, Mister Stark.''

Tony looks over at the baby again, smirk gentling once more.

''So you’re here.''

Peter regularly has moments of wanting to sink into the floor, and this is definitely the latest occasion. He shrinks into himself a little as Tony cocks an eyebrow at him.

''I am.''

''As Tony Stark.''

Tony tilts his head, bemusement crossing his features.

''That’s right.''

''Not as Iron Man.''

Tony snorts, eyes turning fond with teasing. ''Kid, if you don’t realise that there’s a difference between my fleshy self and the metal suit, we’ve got a problem.''

''No,'' Peter groans, feeling his face grow warm, ''you know what I mean!''

He hates this, he realises. He hasn’t felt this awkward and off kilter around Tony in so long. There’s been so many hours spent in the lab and movie nights since those early days; so many impulsive quests for the best burgers in the city or the location of Rhodey’s secret stash of Ferrero Rocher that Tony seems hellbent on discovering, not to mention all the ridiculous texts they send back and forth. They’re together a lot, and it’s always easy, fun, good. Feeling so out of place and uncomfortable after all this time catches Peter off guard.

''I get it, Pete,'' Tony says. ''You weren’t expecting to see me.''

That’s an understatement for sure.

Peter’s seen plenty of the people who come into the hospital to hug babies. There’s lots of volunteers who regularly spend hours and hours holding the tiniest of little bundles, humming lullabies and paving the way for peaceful slumbers by rocking their arms in hypnotic rhythms.

He just never in his wildest dreams ever expected Tony to be one of those people.

''I, uh…you’re good,'' Peter wiggles his fingers in the direction of the baby’s crib, ''with that. The baby stuff.''

''I’ve been coming here since way before your days of being half spider started, Underoos,'' Tony says. ''I’d like to think I’d be pretty decent at it by now.''

Peter’s saved from having to give any kind of coherent response by the appearance of another nurse.

''Sorry, Spidey, I think we’re going to have an uprising on our hands if you don’t head back.''

Tony claps him on the shoulder and urges him out the door with a promise of seeing him soon. Peter nods dumbly in response and spends the rest of his visit on a wobbly wavelength of thought that doesn’t let up even as he heads home. 

Tony cuddles babies.

Tony Stark cuddles babies.

Iron Man is good with babies.

No matter which way Peter tries to spin this newfound knowledge in his mind, it still doesn’t make sense.

It shouldn’t seem that strange. It’s not like Tony isn’t affectionate. He has no problem in kissing Pepper like it’s their first date in full view of whoever may be in the room at the time, nor does he show any resistance to whatever makes it necessary for him to practically throw himself into Rhodey’s arms whenever the man comes to visit.

Witnessing those kinds of things meant that it didn’t take long for Peter to realise that for someone who had seemed so closed off before, Tony is actually a rather tactile man. The amount of hair ruffles, friendly punches to the shoulder and one-armed hugs has definitely increased over the last few months. Sometimes Peter will even prop his feet up against Tony’s leg when they stretch out on the couch to watch a movie, but that’s a rarity at best.

They’ve certainly never hugged. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. Not a full bodied, arms completely around each other and squeezing tight kind of hug.

Peter feels saddened by the notion.

It’s not like May doesn’t hug him, but these days it feels more like he’s the one hugging her. The smallest of growth spurts means that Peter now stands just that little bit taller than she does, and since the bite he’s far too big to be able to get fully wrapped up in her arms like he used to.

Ned hugs him too, but it’s usually in response to something, not just for the sake of it. Their affection exists in quirky handshakes and shoulder budges and incessant tapping on the other’s arm when something cool happens. Hugs with Ned exist for moments like the time pre-bite Peter got the snot kicked out of him by some kids from the football team just for their own amusement. Or the night after Ben died when Peter, nearly out of his mind with grief, had run all the way to Ned’s place in the pouring rain and spent the rest of the night sobbing in his best friend’s arms.

The team regularly indulges in hearty embraces and fierce pats on the back that can make the air quiver with unseen strength. But Peter’s fairly new to the team, still operates on a predominantly solo basis unless called in, so he always stands awkwardly to the side when the post-battle celebrations start, though he’s usually rewarded with a few claps to the shoulder and a friendly hand squeezing the back of his neck now and then.

So yeah, there’s affection, plenty of it. He can hardly say he goes without.

But something about seeing Tony with those babies makes so many pieces of Peter ache. It’s not the same kind of ache that comes from remembering Ben. That’s a steady thrum somewhere inside that doesn’t stop, flares up every so often whenever the mood strikes it right; an old kind of twinge that Peter’s more or less found a way to live with, along with the odd bad day or two thrown in here and there.

This _ thing _that he feels now is totally different. It’s almost bitter and makes his heart go into a chorus of fierce thuds whenever he lets himself think about Tony cuddling the babies, openly warm and affectionate, smiling and gentle.

He’s on his way home when the realisation hits him like a slap to the face.

He’s jealous.

The acknowledgement of the emotion makes him pause, perching on the edge of a rooftop and staring down at the bustling early evening streets below.

He’s got no reason to be jealous. The hero worship, still a thing because it’s a lifelong adoration he’ll never let go of, has long since transcended into something more powerful, something that makes it possible for him to say things like ''Nice jammies, Mister Stark,'' with all the bold sassiness of Tony Stark himself, and feel nothing but warm delight when the man levels an empty glare at him over the rim of his coffee mug.

He has no reason to be jealous. He’d have to be dumb as hell to think that Tony doesn’t care about him. Sometimes, Peter even thinks that maybe Tony kinda loves him, in his own way. Maybe it’s not the kind of love that involves over the top gushing and grand gestures of sentiment, but it’s there, from the way Tony grins at him with full blown pride all over his face whenever Peter finds a way to surprise him, to the exasperated but undoubtedly fond grumble of ‘’you’re a pain in the ass, Parker,’’ that is heard whenever Peter does something to purposely annoy the man, usually involving an overexcited Dum-E and the blender.

Peter doesn’t need to be jealous. He _ shouldn’t _be jealous.

Yet here he is, almost seventeen, more than old enough to know better, freaking out and totally green-eyed monstering over Tony giving cuddles to babies.

And just like that, the doubt takes root with curling tendrils of poison that wrap around his self-worth and squeeze it into submission while the shame and embarrassment duke it out for dominance somewhere in his chest.

Peter gazes out at the city, takes a few deep breaths as his eyes sting with tears, before leaping into the air and swinging home.

* * *

Peter tries to hug Tony a few nights later. Standing quietly in the kitchen with Tony as he fumbles around for a bowl to pour some popcorn into, Peter stares intently at Tony’s back like it’s the ultimate prize. He lifts his arms and steps forward, fingers almost touching the soft fabric of Tony’s sweatshirt, arms widening to circle Tony around the middle –

The bowl of popcorn smacks into his arm as Tony turns, and the two of them jump with startled little yells as the buttery kernels rain down on the floor.

Tony looks down at the mess while Peter looks at Tony, blood filling his cheeks and making his scalp tingle as he feels the familiar plunge of mortification in his stomach. He makes quick work of dropping down and beginning to scoop everything up and keeps a fair distance from Tony for the rest of the night, going so far as to feign sleep halfway through the movie, tucking himself up in a ball at the end of the couch.

His heart does a funny tap dance when he feels Tony shift closer and rest a hand on one of his feet, patting it gently in a strangely hypnotic rhythm that eventually makes him doze off.

* * *

Peter manages to avoid Tony for the next week until they encounter one another in the hospital again Or, more accurately, Tony appears in the room that Peter is hanging out in, creating an absolute cacophony of delighted cheering as the kids realise who he is, and he spends a good fifteen minutes learning all their names and sharing hugs and high-fives before asking if he can borrow Spider-Man for some ‘top secret superhero business.’

This turns out to be pulling Peter into a quiet room where a chubby baby girl with a cannula in her nose stares at him with big eyes from inside her crib. Peter watches as Tony lifts the baby into his arms and turns to face him.

''This is Clara.''

''Oh…h-hello,'' Peter says, giving the baby a little wave.

Tony snorts and Clara lets out a little stream of baby chatter as he adjusts his hold so that she’s facing him.

''Clara here is pretty poorly, and sometimes her mama has to work so she can’t always be here, so she gets the joy of having me for company,’’ he gives her a soft squeeze, eliciting the most adorable giggle Peter thinks he’s ever heard, ''though really, I think she’s just taking pity on me. Aren’t you, baby?''

Clara babbles like she understands exactly what he’s saying. A nurse comes in and smiles warmly at them.

''Should have known _ you’d _be in here,'' she teases, making Tony grin.

''What can I say?'' Tony says as he passes Clara over. ''I’m a sucker for a pair of big brown eyes.''

The nurse shakes her head but is still smiling as she sweeps out of the room. Tony places a hand on Peter’s back and guides him through to another room, this one just as quiet and cosy as the first, all soft yellow and warm light.

''Hi, Caroline,'' Tony says to the nurse flicking through a chart by the window. ‘’You’re looking fabulous. What are you on, hour thirteen of a twenty-four shift?’’

Caroline wrinkles a freckled nose at him and sets down the chart. ''You know, you don’t have to charm your way through every room. We all know why you’re here so you may as well get on with it.''

Tony grins and points a finger at her. ''If you weren’t so good at what you do here, I’d snap you up for Stark Industries in a heartbeat.''

Caroline rolls her eyes, like she’s heard it all before. ''Passing all your knowledge and skills onto our resident superstar?'' she asks, looking over at Peter who blushes under his mask.

Tony claps Peter on the shoulder. ''Something like that.'' He looks over towards the crib in the corner above which a farm-themed mobile spins in lazy circles. ''He up for visitors today?''

''Always,'' Caroline beams. ''Tracy and Stan will be so glad you came by to see him, makes them feel better knowing he’s getting some love when they’re not here.''

Tony nods and Peter allows himself to be steered towards the crib. A small baby boy, no more than a few months old, lies inside, loosely covered in a blanket covered in small Captain America shields. Peter glances at Tony who pulls a face.

''The nurses are _ fans_.''

Peter feels like he should laugh but the entire situation is just becoming too much for him to fully comprehend.

''This is Jack, by the way.''

Peter just nods, because standing here, inches away from a sweet, innocent little human who needs affection way more than he does, brings all that he’s been feeling out into a new light, and it’s not a good one.

He watches as Tony reaches down into the crib and lifts Jack into his arms, murmuring gentle words as the baby squirms for a few seconds before settling.

Tony looks at Peter who instantly stands straighter, like he’s been caught doing something wrong. The corner of Tony’s left eye twitches and he jerks his head towards the armchair sitting by the head of the crib.

''Sit down, kid.''

Peter sits.

''Hold out your arms.''

Peter slowly extends them, fingers rubbing together briefly in nervous anticipation. Tony gives him a smile.

''Like mine, genius.''

''Oh!''

Peter crooks his arms, making a weird sort of cradle shape, and holds his breath as Tony ever so carefully lowers the baby into his arms.

''Gotta make sure you support his head,'' Tony murmurs, keeping his hand folded around Jack’s head as it nestles just above the crook of Peter’s elbow. ''There you go.''

He steps back and Peter’s head immediately snaps up to follow him.

''I’m still here,'' Tony chuckles.

''Okay…'' Peter lets out a weak laugh of his own before looking down at the baby.

Huge, impossibly big blue eyes gaze up at him whilst a pacifier moves in slow, curious sucks, making the baby resemble some ridiculous but undoubtedly adorable hairless rabbit. A little hand lifts up and touches Peter’s chin, making his breath catch in his chest.

''Hi,'' Peter whispers, hoping that the mask doesn’t look too scary.

''You’re adorable, kid,'' Tony reassures, ever the mind reader. ''Those big lenses look eerily like those gigantic bambi eyes you like to use against me whenever you want something.''

Translation: You’re okay. Relax. I’m here with you. Stop worrying.

Peter eases back into the chair and unclenches his shoulder. The movement allows Jack to settle further into his chest, something which the little guy seems to like because he lets out an adorable little coo.

''Wow,'' Peter whispers.

''Bit of a rush, isn’t it,'' Tony says knowingly.

''Yeah,'' Peter swallows, throat feeling suddenly tight. He feels Tony move in closer beside him but doesn’t look up, keeping his focus on the baby, oddly hypnotised by the eyes that have now narrowed into a sleepy stare. 

Tony’s hand slips into view and brushes a thumb across Jack’s pink forehead, just in between his eyes which lazily close at the contact. 

Something rushes up inside Peter then; a furious urge to just ask Tony for what he wants and he feels his mouth open automatically to say it, the words skipping across his tongue –

And then the baby coos again and he loses all courage to the wash of guilt and says something else instead.

''Why do you do this?'' Peter asks hoarsely, immediately blushing for how the question sounds. ''I mean, uh, what made you start?''

Tony is so quiet for so long that Peter can’t resist looking up at him. He’s surprised to see the wistful sadness on Tony’s face, though he quickly schools it into something a bit less melancholy when he catches Peter’s gaze. 

''Jarvis used to do it.''

''Oh.''

It’s not an answer Peter is expecting.

''I used to tag along with him sometimes, usually whenever my dad was being more of a cold-hearted asshole than usual.'' Tony withdraws his hand from Jack’s head and folds his arms, like he’s trying to keep himself guarded as he speaks. ''He volunteered at a local children’s hospital and would sit for hours just...cuddling these tiny little things. He and his wife didn’t have kids of their own, which was a shame because the man was a natural.''

Like you, Peter immediately thinks.

''Anyway,'' Tony continues, ''after one particularly nasty row with my old man, Jarvis sticks me in a chair, puts a baby in my arms and tells me not to move.'' Tony smiles and shakes his head. ''Sat there for a whole hour just cuddling this baby. Aubrey, her name was.''

Peter wonders if the woman Aubrey grew up to be knows that once upon a time, she was able to soothe a little of the torment in Tony Stark’s soul by doing nothing but snuggling up in his arms. 

The jealousy flares up again, locked in a spiteful shoving match with the shame that just can’t quite gain dominance, which only serves to make Peter feel worse.

As though sensing his inner distress, Jack suddenly gives a loud wail, face creasing up and turning red. Peter shoots up and holds the baby out to Tony in panic, desperate to keep his toxic feelings away from something so innocent and pure. Tony’s eyes blink wide in his surprise at Peter’s speed but he only fumbles for a moment before reaching out, hands cradling the baby in all the right places and voice coming out in a gentle hushing croon. 

Peter tries to slide away as Tony turns towards the crib, wanting to get as far away as possible, maybe find a way to cram all of his feelings together into a ball and kick them hard out of the nearest window.

''You stay right there, Underoos.''

Tony is still cuddling the baby, hand gently holding the head that’s resting on his chest, but his eyes are on Peter, narrow and calculating in the way that Peter knows to mean that Tony is working something out. 

He remains in place as Tony makes quick work of lulling Jack into a state of dozy calmness and lowers him back into his crib. Peter briefly considers running, but then Tony’s turning to face him again and he knows that there’s no escape now. 

Peter moves obediently as Tony pushes him towards the door on the opposite side of the one they came through, guiding him into what turns out to be a small kind of seating area, much like a waiting room. The lights are thankfully not too harsh and Peter tugs off his mask just as Tony closes the door.

''Alright, kid, something’s been going on for a while,'' Tony says, folding his arms and leaning his back against the door, ''and I’m thinking now is the time for you to spill.''

Peter ducks his head, feeling his heart heave in his chest. There’s no way he can tell Tony the truth, not without it making him look like the most pathetic kind of idiot. He’s almost an adult, he doesn’t _ need _ to be cuddled. What he needs to do is grow the hell up and get over this.

''Pete?''

The gentle concern in Tony’s voice is a hairline fracture in his inner defences. Like water against a crumbling dam, everything starts to seep through the cracks, gaining momentum with every second and Peter knows that it’s pointless to even try and stop it. 

''We don’t…do that,'' Peter says weakly, looking up and waving a hand lamely at the door.

Tony’s eyes crinkle in the corners in a way that makes Peter immediately feel like he’s underneath a microscope. There’s a funny sort of sternness on Tony’s face that seems so in contrast with the soft way he had spoken moments ago, but there’s something in his gaze that keeps Peter from looking away. 

''By _ that _ you mean…'' Tony loops his arms through the air before dropping them awkwardly. 

''Mm,'' Peter mumbles tightly, feeling the sudden urge to cry or sink through the floor, whichever comes first. ''Well, not like you did with...but, maybe - ''

''You want us to hug?''

There’s only curiosity in Tony’s words but somehow they still manage to strike Peter with the full force of scornful rejection, even as the browns of Tony’s eyes shimmer to an undeniable shade of tender. 

''No, I, uh - it’s really stupid, I’m sorry,'' Peter rushes as he steps back. ''I should go, really, I’m sorry - ''

A hand closes gently around his left wrist and pulls him firmly forward until he bumps into Tony’s chest. A rod of iron seems to slip down his spine, turning him stiff and rigid as Tony wraps strong arms around him. 

''Oh c’mon, kid, don’t make me do all the work here.''

''You don’t have to do this,'' Peter mutters, vision blurring as he focuses on the patch of suit jacket right by his nose. 

''I know,'' Tony shrugs his shoulders. ''This is me doing what I always do: What I want.''

Peter thinks of all those tiny little boys and girls, sickly and small and in so much need of all the warmth and love in the world, and the swell of shame leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

But then a hand cups the back of his head and the touch of callused fingers on his scalp seems to zap the bitterness from his mind, telling him without words that it’s okay. Tony rocks them a little from side to side, almost as though he’s testing the movement out to see if it fits. 

“Thought you only hugged babies,’’ Peter says even as he feels himself giving in; feels the coils of anxiety and self-loathing and jealousy slackening their grip, allowing him to breathe for the first time in days. 

''Even the big kids need a hug now and then,'' Tony hums, squeezing him tighter. ''Especially the spidery kind.''

The tiny part of Peter that wants to object to being called a kid dissolves rapidly as he feels the warmth of Tony’s embrace seep through him, right down to his bones. He’s instantly aware of so many things: how Tony is just tall enough for Peter’s head to rest against the firm expanse of his chest beneath his chin; the steady, strong rhythm of Tony’s heartbeat in his ear; how Tony’s arms curl fully around him in a way that reminds him so much of Ben. His hugs had been the best kind, all protective strength and gentle squeezes, a way to ward off the darkness of the world if only just for a moment or two.

Tony isn’t Ben and that’s okay, because he’s Tony and Peter doesn’t want him to be anyone else other than who he is. Especially right now when he’s holding Peter like he’s something precious, something to treasure, like cuddling him like this is the easiest thing in the world.

Peter’s arms, which had been half raised and hanging uselessly in the air up to this point, lift up and fix around Tony. He holds on with the tiniest hint of extra strength and closes his eyes for a moment. 

''You know, kiddo,'' Tony says, voice gentle, ''you only had to ask.''

''Didn’t want to,'' Peter says, feeling suddenly shy. ''Worried you’d think it was weird.''

''Weird?'' Tony scoffs. ''Weird is relative, kid, you should know that by now.''

The hand on the back of his head moves to trail through his hair, gently lifting the curls and letting them ping back into place. Peter burrows in closer, pressing his face into the crook of Tony’s shoulder.

''I should have done this earlier, huh,'' Tony muses quietly.

''Why didn’t you?'' Peter whispers into Tony’s shirt.

Tony sighs. ''I don’t know really, kid. I guess I figured it should be on your terms, that I’d follow your lead, let you set the limits.''

''But you rubbed my feet,'' Peter mumbles before he can really think, like that somehow explains the complete ridiculousness of this whole situation.

Tony’s laugh bolts through him. ''I knew you weren’t asleep! You really are the worst actor, Pete.''

Peter grumbles and butts his forehead into Tony’s collarbone.

''The foot rubbing is something that Rhodey used to do for me to help me relax, back in the days where he had to put up with me almost twenty-four seven.’’ Tony explains as he readjusts his arms, taking more of Peter’s weight against himself. ''And you looked like you could do with the rest, bud, so I’m glad it worked for you too.''

Peter hums in response, noticing then that they’re still moving from side to side, a gentle sway that makes him relax even more, sighing his content out loud as he huddles into Tony, feeling so very safe and so very cared for. 

''I can add it to my repertoire of ways to take care of a spider-baby if you like,'' Tony says teasingly, though something tells Peter that he means it sincerely. ''Working up to quite a substantial list now, so this would probably come somewhere between ensuring that there’s a hearty stock of candy in the house and never buying anything peppermint scented.''

The notion of jealousy fully dispels then, blitzed apart by a fierce buzz of love, leaving Peter with no more doubt or bad thoughts, just the certainty that this, right here, is a really good thing.

''I like this better than the foot rub,'' Peter tells him, moving his arms so that they loop tighter around Tony. ''It can go at the top of the list.''

''Yeah?''

''Yeah,'' Peter closes his eyes again. ''This is nice.''

Tony chuckles and just holds him even closer.

**Author's Note:**

> My mind: I really wanna write some kind of long, epic adventure that eats up the emotions of the readers and spits them back out again.
> 
> Also my mind: A fantastic idea...but have you considered this overly soft fluff piece with no plot and lots of goo?
> 
> Ah well haha, maybe one day! Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments appreciated, or come chat to me on tumblr!


End file.
